"Your mom invited both of us to dinner tonight?" were the first words out of Ingrid's mouth the following morning as she stalks over to Flynn's truck, a grimace on her face.

"Did you not want her to?" was Flynn's response, a puzzled look in his eyes.

"I don't know. I just didn't think this would happen." she shrugs, shimmying her way into the passenger side of the vehicle.

"Apparently our moms were good friends in high school. My mom even lived with your mom when she got kicked out for getting pregnant." he tells her, getting into the driver's side.

"How do you know all of this?"

"She told me about their friendship."

"Why didn't my mom tell me about their friendship?"

"She did."

"No, she didn't."

"I was there when she told you."

"Really?"

"Do you not remember the conversation we all had?"

"I zone out a lot."

Flynn sighs, turning the key in the ignition.

"I hear that sigh all the time. My mom sighs like that almost every day. I call it the 'Ingrid, Why?' sigh. Patent pending."

"Do you even know what a patent is?"

"Nope. I just think it's cool to say."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"I hear that all the time, too. I call that the 'Ingrid, Are You Dumb?' question. Patent pending."

"Do you have names for everything?"

"Well, no, but I'm working on it."

"You know, everything doesn't need to have a name."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"I think I'm just going to shut up."

"That's disappointing. I thought you were going to put up a bigger fight than that."

He stays silent, continuing on their way to the high school. This irritates her, a frown resting on her lips as she thinks of a way to get him to talk, settling into the silence herself. A few moments pass before a light bulb goes off in her head, a huge grin plastered on her face.

"Flynn, do you think the football team has the potential to go all the way to the state championship this year? I heard that the team sucks now without the seniors."

The sudden change in topic startles Flynn, who slams his foot on the brake, jostling both of them around. "Of course we do. We've been there seven times within the past ten years." he replies, starting to drive again. 

"I don't know about that. My sources say that the team isn't as good as it used to be."

"I don't think you have sources, Ingrid."

"Uh, yes, I do."

"Name them."

"Uh...."

"That's what I thought."

"Don't get all mean on me."

"You know football's a sensitive topic for me."

"In fact, no, I didn't."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm sorry."

"That's your problem: you're too nice. I didn't want you to apologize."

"But I'm going to, again and again. It's just how I was raised."

"Don't tell me that your whole family is like this. I mean, Rosemary, I can understand, but if I have to sit through a family dinner like this, just put me in the pasture and shoot me."

"What?"

"You've never heard that saying before?"

"No."

"Now you can't make fun of me for not knowing stuff."

"I never made fun of you for not knowing stuff."

"Well, now you can't."

"You're a piece of work, Ingrid Armstrong."

"That's the best compliment I've ever received, Flynn Newfield."

"We're going to polite your socks off tonight. You'll never know what mean looks like ever again."

"I'd like to see you try."

Flynn just chuckles, parking the truck and getting out, Ingrid following suit shortly after. "You really need to fix the passenger side door. I'm tired of waiting for you to get out before I can get out."

"I'm working on it, I promise."

"Keep telling yourself that and maybe you'll believe it."

"If you keep being mean to me, I'm not going to buy you lunch."

"Disregard everything I've said since we left my house."

"Oh, Ingrid. What would I do without you?"

After lunch (and a subsequent visit to Ingrid's house), Flynn and Ingrid were now en route to the dinner planned for Ingrid and her mother.

"And then my dad turns to me and says, 'Flynn, your pants have a huge hole in the backside.' That's it, that's the story of how I scored free tickets to see a Beatles cover band." Flynn finishes, chuckling at his own memory.

"That story sucked." Ingrid replies, looking out of the window.

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"You suck."

"Why?"

"You're too nice. Everyone else would have given up on me by now, but you're too patient. Just for once, I want to see you get mad. I want to see you lose faith in me. You don't always have to be Mr. Nice Guy."

"Where did that come from? I've never heard anything like that come out of your mouth before." Flynn stammers, appearing to be flabbergasted at her previous comments.

"I don't know. I just think you should be more honest about your feelings sometimes."

"But I am honest about my feelings. I don't have a problem with anyone, even though they might have a problem with me."

"God, who raised you? You're, like, a gumdrop or something."

"...What?"

"You're too sweet, you know, like a gumdrop." she shrugs nonchalantly, to which Flynn grins widely.

"Are you complimenting me?"

"What? No! I'm just saying...shut up!"

"You like me, don't you?"

"God, no! I tolerate you, but that's where I draw the line. I despise you."

"You always know what to say, Ingrid."

Flynn pulls into his own driveway, just as Rachel's run-down, aging car turns behind them. "I guess my mom got the memo."

Rachel approaches her daughter and her friend, who had just gotten out of the truck. "I hope they don't mind me wearing my uniform. I just got off of a long shift."

"Miss Rachel, they're not going to mind. I certainly don't."

"Flynn, you are just so delightful. I've never met anyone quite as charming as you."

"Wow, Mom, not even your own daughter tops the list? You're a fake fan."

Both Flynn and Rachel laugh, finding Ingrid's view of the world amusing.

"Come on, Ingrid, let's go inside. I haven't seen or talked to Amy or Brian in years." her mother instructs, Flynn following behind the two as they make their way to the front door. "You could have wore something better than that." she murmurs so that only Ingrid could hear, referring to Ingrid's messy hair, faded t-shirt, and baggy sweatpants. 

Before Ingrid could respond, the door swings open to reveal a smiling woman who couldn't look older than her late thirties. Her shoulder-length caramel hair enveloped Rachel as she holds her tight in a hug. "I cannot believe we haven't kept better touch! How have you been?" Flynn's mother greets, pulling back to hear Rachel's response.

"Life just got in the way, I guess. Speaking of life, I've been staying afloat. Hunter's getting married, and it's fast approaching."

"Get out of here! Are you serious? It seems like just yesterday he was born!"

"I know, right? He's almost twenty-one." 

"Rosemary just turned twenty-one. I'm worried she's never going to get married. Brian might be a little more happier with that news, but she's been through so much heartbreak as it is. I hope she finds someone like your Hunter did."

"I feel the same way with Ingrid. Just look at her, she's a mess." Rachel replies, turning towards her daughter, who had been bored out of her mind just before and was now startled. 

"You must be Ingrid. I'm Amy, Flynn's mom. You know, your mother and I go way back, probably around when we were your age."

"That's nice, but what does this have to do with me?"

"Ingrid Josephine!" her mother exclaims, lightly hitting her daughter on the arm.

"What?"

"Don't be rude. We're guests in their home."

"Don't worry about it, Rach, she's pretty funny. Let me let you guys in, you must be hot just standing outside like that." Amy chuckles, backing away from the door.

Ingrid, Rachel, and Flynn head inside, where the interior of the house was gorgeous. As they walked in, the first thing they saw were the family portraits hanging on the wall down the stairs, showcasing the Newfields as a loving family. As they're being led into the living room, two boys who couldn't be older than five were playing with action figures on the carpeted floor. Across from the seating area, a beautiful fireplace, although unlit because it was summer, stood underneath the television mounted on the wall. Individual pictures of each child hung around the room, apparently impressing Rachel. "Amy, this is breathtaking."

"Thank you. We worked hard to get this like it is today."

"Are these two yours?"

"All mine. This is Jasper and Henry, the youngest additions to the Newfield family."

"Miss Newfield, exactly how many children do you have?" Ingrid interrupts, curious as to how Flynn had more siblings than she knew about.

"Eight, but I feel like that number might be expanding soon, fingers crossed." There were eight Newfield children, starting with Everett, who led the pack at twenty-three, followed by Rosemary, who was twenty-one, then Flynn at seventeen, followed by a small gap in age with Toby, who had recently turned eleven. Naomi was the last girl at nine, while the last three were boys, Lincoln, who was seven, then Jasper at five, and finally, Henry, who was three.

"I didn't realize that you're some sort of baby machine."

"Now I think I've heard it all." Flynn laughs, his friend shooting a glare in his direction.

"I'm sorry for her behavior. She can't control her mouth sometimes, it's really embarrassing." Rachel murmurs, wringing her hands together.

"Don't be sorry. I find her humor amusing."

"I think everyone does."

"I'm so glad you two are friends. I think everything balances out in the end. You're sweet, and Ingrid's sour. It's perfect." Amy then chirps, focusing her attention on the teenagers standing beside her.

Flynn and Ingrid share a glance. "How about we go into the kitchen? Our moms have some catching up to do, so they'll probably be a while." Flynn suggests, trying to stay out of the conversation.

"I hope I never turn out like that." Ingrid grumbles, referring to her mother.

"I hope you do." Rachel fires back, before returning to her conversation.

Ingrid sticks her tongue out at her mother, but follows Flynn into the kitchen anyway. Inside, a man was tossing a salad, and Rosemary was taking the pot roast out of the oven. "Hey, Flynn." Rosemary greets, placing the pan on the stove before noticing Ingrid. "Oh, Ingrid's with you! Hi! Dad, have you met Ingrid?"

"Now I have. Brian Newfield, at your service." the man replies, opening the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of salad dressing.

"Flynn, you look just like your dad. It's kind of scary when you think about it." Ingrid gasps, putting two and two together.

"Why is that scary?" Flynn responds, a confused look in his eyes.

"You're like a clone of him or something. Either you have really good genetics or something's wrong."

"I'll take that as a compliment. A weird one, but a compliment nonetheless."

The back door opens to reveal Everett and Toby, who had just finished a game of H-O-R-S-E in the backyard. "Is dinner ready?" Toby asks, putting the basketball into a wicker basket by the door.

"Almost. We still have to make the mashed potatoes." Rosemary answers, rummaging through the cabinets for the aforementioned potatoes.

"Can I help?" her younger brother questions once more. "I promise I won't break anything this time."

"I think we've got it under control, but thanks for asking. Jasper and Henry are in the living room if you wanted to go play cars with them."

"Is Mom home yet?"

"She's in the living room."

Everett and Toby disappear into the living room. "So, Ingrid, how's summer school treating you? Flynn's not boring you, is he?" the Newfield patriarch pipes up, placing the bowl of salad, along with the dressing, down on the counter.

"Well, yeah, but he's a perfect gentleman about it. I don't know what you're putting in your Kool-Aid, but your kids are perfect, Mr. Newfield."

"I like this girl. She really is something different." 

"Everyone keeps complimenting me and it's making me feel weird. Nobody compliments me, like, ever."

"Nobody's ever complimented you?"

"Well, you see, my mom's always working, my brother sucks, and my dad's probably a murderer." she replies, plopping down on a stool at the breakfast bar.

"You're Shane's daughter, aren't you?"

"Don't mention that name. Just hearing it makes me cringe."

"What makes you think he's a murderer?"

"Not this again."

And so, Ingrid proceeds to tell Brian and Rosemary about her sneaking suspicions about her father, sparing no details in her retelling.

"It makes sense, and I believe you, but how are you going to get physical evidence? The case is over fourteen years old." Brian responds, raising an eyebrow in concern.

"I'm thinking that if I can get Shane to come back to Lakeside, I can get him to admit to murdering that woman." 

"And what if you can't?" Rosemary pipes up, turning away from her potatoes to look over at Ingrid.

"I...haven't thought that far yet."

"I think you can do it. Just be careful, I heard Shane's a dangerous man." 

"I mean, if he's capable of murdering a woman in cold blood, I'm pretty sure we can call him dangerous, not to mention, I don't know, a murderer?"

"Fair enough." 

Thirty minutes later, dinner was finally ready to be served. Ingrid and her mother were shown into the dining room, a long table greeting them as they walked in. Flynn had gone upstairs to gather his siblings together, while Amy had just put Henry into his high chair. Brian, Everett, and Rosemary were bringing the dishes in from the kitchen as Toby, Naomi, Lincoln, and Jasper bustled into the dining room. Slowly but surely, everyone was seated and ready to eat as Brian had just fixed the last plate, his own. 

"Naomi, would you say grace?" Amy asks as she sits down across from her daughter. "I think it's your turn this week."

"Wait, you guys do this every week?"

"Since Everett and Rosemary moved out, we all get together once a week for family dinner. It's a shame more families don't do this anymore. I can still remember sitting down with my family every night."

"If I didn't have to work all the time, I think we'd do this a lot more often at our house."

"I mean, I can get behind this. I like food, you like food, let's do this."

"Can I say grace now, Mom?"

"Of course, sweetheart, whenever you're ready."

Naomi is about to say grace when a knock at the front door interrupts her. 

"Who could that be?" 

"Were we expecting more company?"

"I don't think so."

"I'll get it."

Flynn makes his way to the front door, opening it to reveal none other than Shane Armstrong himself. He pushes past the teenager, casually strolling into the kitchen.

"Family dinner, without me?"

"Oh sh-"